The Merry Month of May (12 page)

“And wore the willow for six years, for a man you never loved? I think I would have been more forthcoming,” he said, shaking his head.

“It was foolish of me. I don’t know where the time went. I always felt that eventually it would be forgotten.”

“Then I came bounding back. You must have felt like crowning me.”

“I did,” she admitted, and laughed.

“How do matters stand between you and Idle? I hear he is dancing attendance.”

“Oh, Swithin dances alone. He prefers to be the undisputed center of attention.”

“No man is contented with that in the long run,” he said, studying her. His interest now was simply that of neighbor for neighbor. He could tell nothing by her manner. How could he expect to? She had hidden her true feelings for six years.

They began strolling after the boys. “You will eventually marry someone, I expect, for the boys’ sake,” she mentioned.

“And for my own. I know myself too well. If I don’t have a wife, I shall soon have something else.”

“Are you quite sure you’ve changed?” she teased.

“Oh yes. Now I should prefer the wife.”

“What of Miss Harvey?” she suggested, with an air of innocence.

“She seems less—desirable here than she did in Canada,” he said, frowning. “I shall take a sharp look about me at my ball.”

“Miss Harvey’s ball, you mean,” Sara said, and looked closely for his reaction.

“Betsy has a way of usurping things, but she’s not a bad sort really. It is just the cultural differences that make her seem a little rough around the edges. A bit of an unpolished diamond. Mind you, she shan’t be unpolished for long. Up to all the rigs, is Betsy.”

His approval didn’t sound like love, but it struck Sara that Miss Harvey would make a much better wife for Peter than for Haldiman. “I take it she is quite a hit at the Hall?” she asked.

He laughed uneasily. “Not a universal hit. The servants don’t care for her manner. Has Rufus been complaining?”

The question surprised Sara. “No indeed! I understand he is a staunch admirer.”

Peter looked interested. “Good. He hasn’t said much lately. I have noticed he has been trying to entertain her. Really, he has surprised me by his attentions to Betsy. If I didn’t know better, I would think he’s developed a tendre for her himself.” He gave a little laugh, but there was an edge to it.

Beau wandered too close to the water and wet his feet. Rufus let out a yelp and Peter went running. “Gudgeon,” he scolded. “I’d best get this whelp home.”

“He can’t walk. His shoes are squishing. We’ll have to carry him, Papa,” Rufus announced.

“We? Yes,
we
shall have to carry him on
my
shoulders,” Peter grouched and put Beau on his shoulders. “There goes my jacket! I look forward to seeing you at the ball, Sara. You’ll give me a dance, I hope?”

“Of course. I look forward to it.”

“We’re having a ball,” Rufus told her, with a proudly proprietorial air. “I can’t go, but I’m going to peek over the banister at all the pretty ladies.”

“Like father, like son,” Sara laughed.

Rufus looked across the meadow and suddenly exclaimed, “Uncle Rufus and Aunt Betsy. I will ride home with him!” He went pelting forward, arms making windmills in the air. Sandy barked an apology at Beau and went running after Rufus, ears flapping.

Peter turned suddenly, and Beau jiggled precariously on his shoulders. Sara reached out to steady him. “Be careful, Peter!” she exclaimed. Her hand on Beau’s foot was suddenly covered by Peter’s, in a simultaneous move to save his son.

Haldiman saw the group, silhouetted against the willows, and felt a jolt at his heart. They looked like a happy family. Sara seemed very comfortable and at home. It almost looked as if they were embracing. When had Peter managed to convince her? Had it occurred during these daily frolics in the meadow? Odd, Peter hadn’t mentioned he met Sara here. Haldiman had been telling himself since Peter’s return that this was what he wanted. Now that he had achieved it, he felt a burning like gall in his chest.

Betsy watched, too, and said, “I see Sara has taken my advice. They make a charming couple, do they not?”

She cantered forward to greet them, with Haldiman following a few paces behind.

“Beau fell in the creek!” Rufus announced importantly. “Can I have a ride home, Uncle Rufus?”

“Peter! You should be more careful,” Betsy chided. “I wonder what distracted you? Not a word shall I say of dalliance, Sara, you sly thing.”

Peter and Sara exchanged a conspiratorial smile. “You’re far off the mark, Betsy,” Peter laughed. “A clear case of the pot calling the kettle black.”

Betsy chuckled. “There, he has caught us dead to rights, Rufus.”

Sara’s eyes flew to Haldiman. She observed nothing but a muscle quivering at the back of his jaw. His gaze turned to her, and she saw a flicker of annoyance. Was it due to Peter’s disclaiming romance with her? Both looked away quickly.

Betsy began chattering again. “Tell Mary I have arranged for the coiffeur to come to the Hall the day after tomorrow, Sara. We are going to try a new do for the ball.” She turned to Haldiman. “Now before you scold me, sir, I must warn you, you shall ride alone that day. An entire day is necessary for a
lady to make herself presentable in society. Isn’t that so, Sara?” Without waiting for an answer, she rattled on to Haldiman. “Perhaps if you want to get up very early, we might take our exercise before nine. By nine I must be home, to dose my poor raddled complexion with lemon water. Don’t you adore balls, Sara?”

“Yes, indeed. I look forward to it.”

“You won’t forget our dance?” Peter reminded her.

“La, Peter, you can put off your flirting till you get this poor sodden child home,” Betsy scolded. “Just look at how the mud from his shoes is destroying your jacket. Let it dry and have your valet brush it out. Don’t tackle it while it is still wet.”

“Perhaps you could give Beau a lift home,” Peter suggested.

“Put him up here very carefully then, and don’t you dare muddy my skirt, wretch.”

Beau was lifted aloft Betsy’s mount, and Rufus taken aboard his uncle’s.

“We’ll leave you two now,” Betsy said coyly. “Don’t do anything you shouldn’t. Come along, Rufus.”

As they rode off, Betsy’s voice trailed after her. “Fancy that! Sara having secret meetings in the meadow, and she making those prissy faces at home. Still waters run deep. Of course they have reached an understanding. I daresay I would do no less under the circumstances.”

“I’d best be off,” Peter said. “I’m glad we had this chat, Sara.” He whistled and Sandy turned from a vigil at a mole hole to join him.

They parted and went their separate ways. Sara’s mission, begun on such high hopes, had not turned out as anticipated, but she told herself she was content with it. It was a vast relief to have finally unburdened her soul of its long misery. She could meet Peter with an easy conscience and a light heart, secure of the new understanding between them. What still troubled her was the intimacy between Betsy and Haldiman. How had it advanced so far, so fast?

For Betsy to speak so openly of their relationship indicated a firm understanding, yet Sara had trouble believing Haldiman was so easily smitten. The girl had nothing in particular to recommend her, though she was pretty enough and sat her mount well. There was a certain liveliness, perhaps, in her conversation, if one was not fastidious. And, of course, she had the charm of novelty, being from a foreign land. Surely it would soon wear off.

When Sara returned with a small handful of wilted blooms and a pensive face, her mother said, “Did you have a nice walk?”

“Yes. I met the Haldimans and Betsy. She and Haldiman were riding. Peter was walking with the boys.”

Mrs. Wood looked sharp. “What had Peter to say?”

“Not much. Beau fell in the stream and they had to leave. Where is Mary?”

“With the modiste, being fitted for her new crepe gown.”

“Betsy wants her to go to the Hall the day after tomorrow. The coiffeur will be there.”

“Why don’t you go with her, Sara? You could use a trim.”

“I plan to let my hair grow. Swithin says it is my crowning glory.”

“Has he arranged to drive you to the ball?” the mother asked with interest. Idle would not be her own first choice, but he was an entirely eligible parti.

“No. Now that the picture is finished, we shan’t have so many meetings with Swithin to endure.”

Mrs. Wood noticed that weary “endure.” “There is nothing afoot between you and Swithin then?”

“Don’t be foolish, Mama.”

Mrs. Wood’s patience broke. “I don’t know what ails you, Sara. You don’t stir a finger to catch a husband. There is Idle, eager to be won. Lord Peter, who is madly in love with you, and you go dream-walking the Season away, as if you had forever. I declare I shall have a spinster on my hands if you don’t look lively soon. Look at Betsy! Not here two weeks and already she has as well as won Haldiman.”

Sara’s cheeks flamed. “I hope you aren’t suggesting I should use her as a model!”

“I wish you would use someone, for you will never find a husband if left to your own devices.”

“Perhaps I don’t want a husband,” Sara sulked.

“And perhaps I do not want a spinster daughter on my hands. Mary is asking Betsy and the Haldimans to tea tomorrow.”

Sara glowered.

“And there will be no megrims for you, miss. Betsy will be Lady Haldiman before we know it. She can do Mary—and you—a world of good. The thing to do is ingratiate her now, so it will not look like we are running after her title after she nabs Haldiman. Would you like to invite Idle?”

“No, Mama,” Sara said, and went up to her room to reflect. She didn’t want Swithin Idle—whom she might possibly win if she could convince him she was unavailable—at a tea party or anywhere else. She certainly did not want Peter. She wanted Haldiman. Who would ever have thought he would settle for just anyone, like Betsy Harvey? She would do as well as Betsy—better. If only she could convince him of it before the cunning colonial rushed him to the altar.

Miss Harvey took it as a matter of course that the tea party at Whitehern was being thrown in her honor. “I declare,” she exclaimed as she primped at the hall mirror before leaving, “you are all spoiling me with attentions. At this rate, I may kick off my scruples and decide to remain in England.” She peered into the mirror over the reflection of her own shoulder, for a glimpse of Haldiman. He happened to be rooting about on the hall table for his mother’s ear trumpet, and she saw only the back of his head. But when she turned and caught his eye, he answered her smile, and she assumed it was approval of her little hint.

“It is a great pity Peter cannot come with us” were his actual words. “Sara will be disappointed.”

“La, he will be meeting her in the meadow after we are all gone. At that stage in the courtship, couples like to meet in private. You fret yourself for nothing, Rufus. It will come as no shock to me if they make the announcement at my ball.”

He took what comfort he could from those meetings in the meadow. Demmed odd that Sara had not come to tea at the Hall, and now Peter was not accepting the invitation to Whitehern. Of course, he was very busy at the Poplars. Preparing the nest for his bride would be high on his list of priorities.

“What are we waiting for?” Lady Haldiman demanded. “It seems I am not the only deaf one here. Can you not hear the harnesses jingling outside?”

The butler held the door. Lady Haldiman sailed through, and Betsy latched on to Haldiman’s arm to go to the carriage.

At Whitehern, Sara had been nagged into attending the tea, but she had no intention of enjoying it. Her simmering temper rose when Betsy entered, still clinging like a limpet to Haldiman.

“I see someone is in a pucker,” Betsy teased, with an arch look at Sara. “You must not blame us if Peter is not here.”

“We did not expect him,” Sara replied stiffly. “We knew he would be at the Poplars. If he is back by mid-afternoon, as he usually is, no doubt he will join us.”

“You see, Rufus,” Betsy said. “I told you they had arranged the whole between themselves.” She turned again to Sara. “Rufus took the idea you would be in black despair that Peter was not with us.”

“On the contrary. I learned to live with Peter’s absence some time ago,” Sara snipped, and immediately regretted her lapse. To atone for it, she welcomed Lady Haldiman with enthusiasm.

The group took up their seats and soon tea was served. Lady Haldiman and Mrs. Wood fell into a discussion of health. Mrs. Wood’s knees were bothering her, and Lady Haldiman countered with a description of her bad back. They took their litany of ills to a sofa a little apart from the younger members of the party. Betsy had a great many secrets to discuss with Mary regarding the ball. “I found the sweetest hairdo in a fashion magazine. We shall ask the coiffeur to try his hand at it tomorrow afternoon.”

“What is it like?” Mary demanded.

“A riot of curls all over the entire head. It is called
la frisure.
We must have our hair in papers all day to achieve the proper effect. Rufus says I shall look a quiz, but I pay no heed to him, I promise you,”

“Why did you not bring a picture?” Mary demanded.

“Why, you have the magazine yourself, goose. It is in the latest
La Belle Assemblée,
on the page with the walking dresses with all the flounces around the bottom, and the ugly little round bonnets. I would not be caught dead in the bonnet, but the lady in the green dress is wearing
la frisure.”

“I don’t remember the hairdo at all.”

“Get the magazine then, and I shall show you.”

They were soon perusing the pages, alternately admiring and disparaging the fashions. Haldiman turned to Sara and said, “Peter is having a closed stove installed at the Poplars. Perhaps he discussed it with you?”

“No, he didn’t.” Her sharp glance said, “Why should he?” “How are Beau and Rufus?” she asked, to change the topic.

“Fine. Till Rufus gets his pony, he is amusing himself by learning how to handle the ribbons of the dog cart.”